Harry Potter & the Mysteries of Cho Chang
by Summer Walters
Summary: Continuation of Book 4- you could call it Book 5. It began as a romance between Harry and Cho. But later the story continues with more plot twists such as Hermione's illegitimate half-sister! Please ignore what has happened in bk 5.
1. The Black Owl

Harry sighed as he gazed out his window. He had been at the Dursleys' house only five days, but it seemed like five months. He couldn't stand being out of the wizard world. How had he ever survived living there for ten long years?  
  
He was torn out of his thoughts as he spotted something coming toward him. What was it? Could it be an owl? But Sirius had just sent him a message that morning, and he had just sent Ron and Hermione's owls back from recent deliveries. He hadn't broken any rules, had he? He was quite sure that he hadn't. It couldn't be the Ministry of Magic, then.  
  
As he wondered, the creature flew closer. Now he was sure it was an owl. But this owl was a creature he had never seen before. In the lilac sky of twilight, the bird's feathers looked very dark. He never had seen such an owl. It neared the house, and swooped through the window, giving Harry a cool breeze from the sticky July heat. The glossy black bird fluttered and landed on Harry's desk amid a pile of old parchment.  
  
"Watch it; that's my homework!" Harry cautioned, before stepping toward this strange bird. The latter hooted as she took off and soared past him. The papers floated off the desk and fluttered to the floor as she whooshed out the window. The sky was now dark and the owl blended in. Harry wondered whether this was magical creature with invisible powers or just good at camouflage.  
  
Even after the mysterious creature was gone, Harry was still captivated by her appearance. Who was she? What did she want? Why had she appeared? Harry shook his head slowly and set to cleaning up his desk. He picked up the fallen scrolls and lay the back on the table. What was this? He stopped. Amongst the scrolls, one he had never seen before. It was small scroll, dyed a pale, white blue. He stepped back to sit on his bed to read it. As he unrolled it, a sweet, familiar scent came into the room. What was it? He couldn't place it, but breathing in the smell, his memory gave him a quick of some happy dream. Confused, he opened the scroll and read the slim, curving writing:  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
How are you? I cannot say that I am fine because I don't think I will ever "get over" that tragic event of Cedric's death. But it must be so much worse for you - you, who witnessed it happening. The memory of him is less painful now, and it helps to write to one who must have the same horrors of this happening.  
  
Please write back to me, Harry. Tell me of his last moments of life. Together we will remember Cedric Diggory. Yes, he WILL be remembered...by Harry and  
  
Cho  
  
Harry put the letter down. Cho? Why was Cho Chang writing to him? She HAD asked for a response, so he hurried to his desk. Then he stopped. No. She only wanted grief counseling from him. She wasn't in love with him. He would just be chasing the moon if he tried to woo her romantically. She was recovering from a great sorrow. Not that Harry wasn't. Every night he woke up in a cold sweat, remembering that terrible night at the graveyard. When he had met Voldemort for the fourth time...when Voldemort's powers had come back... During the day, he was always alert, turning around at any movement. Even in hot July, he felt cold, ice cold, inside. Once Uncle Vernon had ventured to ask, "What is the matter with you?"  
  
Yes, he decided. Of course he would write to her. Despite not seeing the event, no doubt she was horribly depressed and in trauma over it. Cedric, he told himself, HAD been her boyfriend. A quick wave of bitter jealousy washed over him before he pushed it away. How could he feel jealous of Cedric? Cedric was dead! He was alive. Poor Cedric would never play another Quidditch game, never receive his prize for the Triwizard Tournament. Harry dropped his head into his hands. And to think that he had been so close to such an end! He picked up a clean, new scroll and his finest quill.  
  
Grief counseling, perhaps, but thinking of her still made his stomach flutter and spirits lift. And her paper and handwriting were so pretty! He had to impress her, too. 


	2. Dursley Trouble

In a couple of fine, black strokes, Harry wrote a brief letter. A comforting letter. A sympathetic letter. He told her of the awful night, as she had wished to know. Of Cedric's bravery and such. Then, too overcome with emotion, he signed his name and gave the scroll to Hedwig for her to send.  
  
Then Harry collapsed on his bed, depressed. This, by far, was the absolute worst summer he had ever had. Not only had he had to stay with the Durselys, something that now seemed the easiest thing in the world; he had to face the facts that Cedric was dead, killed by Voldemort returned to power.   
  
Dark thoughts...evil thoughts...Harry had to get them out of mind. Anything, anything to cheer himself up. He just had to escape this cruel reality he was trapped in.. He bent down to the loose floor board and pulled out some fresh cake from Mrs. Weasley. Cutting himself a generous slice, he felt a bit better. The rich and creamy chocolate taste lifted his spirits a bit and the world didn't seem so dark.  
  
He climbed into bed with the chocolate taste still in his mouth and fell asleep peacefully that night with thoughts of Cho.  
  
*************************************************************************************  
  
That summer they corresponded often, Harry and Cho. To keep each other minds of "The Incident" - as they called it - they talked about anything else. If it was not related to death, Hufflepuff, Cedric, Voldemort, or the magical world's situation, they spoke of it. Harry told a few too many secrets he shouldn't have about Ron and Hermione; not to mention the embarrassing details about the Durselys' personal life. Cho replied about her own family and their Chinese customs; about practicing Quidditch without Muggles sighting her broom; about life as a Ravenclaw; and about her 5th year friends.   
  
Receiving her letters gave Harry comfort - great comfort - and lightened his heart. He cheered up for each letter of hers he read. Many a night would he wake up to stare out the window waiting for the glossy black owl he now knew as Shadow to arrive. Hedwig grew weary after so many journeys, that Harry - after neglecting his friends for the most part - wrote as an excuse to use their owls to carry Cho's letters as well as their own.   
  
Harry stayed locked in room as much as possible - writing or reading letters - and even the Dursleys suspected something. During meals, he appeared vacant and dreamy. This irritated his aunt and uncle.  
  
"So, Harry, what have you been doing up there all summer?" Uncle Vernon asked one day, wanting to stop any magic that Harry might be plotting.  
  
Harry didn't respond - with his head in his hand, he gazed out the kitchen window; yet not really focusing on anything in particular. He had a goofy smile on his lips and his starry eyes were distant.  
  
"Harry!"   
  
Still nothing.  
  
Uncle Vernon, his face turning its usual beet purple, got up from his chair, stomped over, and shook the boy.  
  
Harry, as if waking up from a dream - which, in a sense, he was - looked up innocently and asked, "What is it, Uncle Vernon?"  
  
The furious man couldn't believe his nephew's impudence and just muttered, "Brain rotted by all this magic rubbish," before Harry fell back into hid daydreams.  
  
"What is wrong with that boy?" Aunt Petunia said to her husband after Harry had dashed up the stairs.  
  
"Told you that magic ruins them. The whole lot; they're all crazy. Mumbling and dreaming; it's no crowd to be associating with. I warned you from the beginning. We should never have taken him in."  
  
Petunia, irritated that he was blaming HER; it wasn't her fault that her dratted sister turned out to be a witch and left her no-good son on their stairs, spat back,  
  
"So what am I supposed to do now? Lock him in his room you like YOU did?"  
  
She had hit a soft spot. A time when, after thinking he was finally in charge, Uncle Vernon had lost even that power.  
  
"Oh, yes; you helped greatly, didn't you? Without your help Harry would have demolished the house!" He was bitingly sarcastic.  
  
Mrs. Dursely was rarely this upset, but now all the supressed anger held back her entire life all spilled out, and Mr. Dursley was the unlucky victim.  
  
"You think that you are the best at everything. That you can ssolve anything. With the letters - thought yourself so smart - barricading the house - driving us 10,000 kilometers away - very smart! Old Vernon can solve anything. But you can't. You can't solve anything. You didn't do anything then and you can't do anything now. You're a failure in life and wish I had never married you!"  
  
"I'M the failure? Look at you - you're just a pathetic little housewife with nothing to her name. I'm the one bringing home the money....the one who feeds and clothes you...the one running a successful business.   
  
"And if you want to insult me and wish things like that, maybe we SHOULD end this marriage, right now."  
  
"Fine!" she spat back, eyes ablaze.  
  
Dudley, hiding behind the stairs, burst into tears. 


	3. The Foster Home

Harry, unaware of all the troubles below him in the kitchen, gazed into the inky black night. A rich, velvety color, it had tints of indigo and violet. But Harry, waiting for a response for days, was not thinking about the beauty of the night sky; his eyes were focusing on a flapping figure coming slowly into view.  
  
As Shadow drank thirstily from Hedwig's bowl, Harry tore the parchment open. He read the letter hungrily. One phrase caught his eye. "Meet me at Diagon Alley. August 21st, all right?" The thought of seeing his beloved Cho again... Harry grabbed a quill and scribbled on the bottom of her letter,  
  
"Yes, I'll come. Not sure how, but I'll be there. Harry."  
  
**************************************************************************** ************************************  
  
The next day, Harry woke up to what sounded like a fight between a pig, chicken, and an angry dog. Squinting his eyes against the shaft of bright light peering between the curtains, he sat up. Once awakened he thought it best to get up. He wasn't one for falling asleep again in the morning. After dressing in Dudley's smallest hand-me-downs, he yawned as he walked down the stairs, wondering what the big fuss in the kitchen was.  
  
As soon as the Dursleys saw Harry standing in the doorway, they all let out even more of an outburst. Advancing on him menacingly, Uncle Vernon roared, "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, BOY!" Harry thought it best not to remind him of his "armed, dangerous" godfather. No telling what his uncle could do to him in the meantime. And as for trying some magic on his uncle himself, well, he'd wasn't going to risk the disastrous consequences of being expelled from Hogwarts and the entire magical community.  
  
"What...what's happening? What's my fault?" he asked in what he considered to be a voice that wouldn't anger Uncle Vernon any more than he already was.  
  
Aunt Petunia let out a wail from the table where she was sitting, her face buried in her hands. Dudley stood apart from them, with an agitated expression Harry had only seen on him when he was told "no" to a toy he wanted. Fleeing as fast as one his size could, Dudley hurried past Harry, kicking him in the shins and hissing, "They're separating and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!"  
  
Shocked, Harry glanced up at Uncle Vernon's angry face. "If we hadn't taken you in, boy..." he growled.  
  
Not knowing what to do, Harry did what he had always done before magic when Dudley was tormenting him. He ran.  
  
**************************************************************************** **************************  
  
Harry stood on the unfamiliar doorstep, with his trunk in one hand, Hedwig's cage under the other arm. He glanced backwards. "Go on, ring the bell," Mr. Wryer called from his car. Then he turned and drove away.  
  
Harry quickly checked to make sure he was out of sight. Then, dragging his luggage down the stairs, he sighed with relief. Escaping! he whispered to himself. Free, free from the Dursleys! I'll leave for London, and meet Cho at Diagon Alley, just as planned.  
  
It was all too soon to rejoice, however, because the door behind him opened with a creak. "Harry? Are you Harry?" Harry spun around.  
  
It was a young girl. Only ten years old at most, Harry guessed. She had was wearing a neon yellow dressed that clashed with her curly brown hair. "Yes, I'm Harry..." he admitted slowly.  
  
She grinned. "Hi! I'm Elspeth Yardley. You can call me Elsie. Come in; I'll tell Mama." She ran up to him, and lugged his trunk up for him. "You have an owl? Cool, what's its name?"  
  
Annoyed his chance of getaway had been lost, Harry sighed. "Her name's Hedwig." But the girl had already dashed into the house and shrieking, "Mama! Harry's here!"  
  
Feeling awkward, Harry put Hedwig's cage on the mat inside and looked around. It was a nice house, hardly as clean as the Dursleys' had been, but friendly. Newspapers strewn on tables, children's art pinned up on walls, woven rugs on the wood floors.  
  
In a few moments, Mrs. Yardley arrived, smiling warming at Harry. "Welcome, Harry! I hope you'll be happy here." As soon as she saw Hedwig, her smile's warmth dropped a few notched. "Er... you have an ... owl, Harry?"  
  
Used to Hedwig's cold welcome at the Dursleys', Harry said, "Yes. Her name's Hedwig. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"Oh we don't mind!" interrupted Elsie. "It'll be so cool to have a real live OWL in our house!" She grinned at Harry eagerly.  
  
Mrs. Yardley made a face. Motioning toward Elspeth, she explained resignedly, "Elsie loves birds. But I'm not looking forward to her... err, meals."  
  
"Oh, no need to worry! Hedwig catches her own food!" Harry supplied.  
  
"Exactly. I'm not too keen about the thought of dead mice and owl pellets lying about the house."  
  
"Ohh... Uh, I can clean up for you. And Hedwig's a neat bird." Being spoken of in a what Hedwig thought a derogatory manner caused her to ruffle her feathers arrogantly and snub Harry for the rest of the day. However, when Elsie reached in to stroke her back, she did not resist her.  
  
"I certainly hope so," Mrs. Yardley said skeptically. "Elsie shall help you to your room."  
  
The girl, grabbing Harry's trunk as though it were merely a rucksack, hurried down the hall. Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage, hastened to catch up. She opened the of a room at the end of the hall and set Harry trunk down, sighing with relief from the burden of it, no matter easily it had appeared that she was carrying it. "Here it is!" she exclaimed happily. The room was not a big one, but the enormous windows made it appear larger than it was.  
  
Elsie jumped onto the bed, and sat on it, bouncing up and down. "So... Harry. How'd you get into a foster home?"  
  
Sitting down on the west-facing window seat, Harry replayed the unbelievable events in his mind once more before he began to speak. Elsie, however, took his silence for reluctance to speak.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I being rude? I apologize; Mama's told me again and again not to --"  
  
"Oh, it's all right. Just a bit unbelievable that's all. But I'm glad to be rid of the Dursleys."  
  
Elsie's eyes widened. "You're GLAD to be rid of your family?"  
  
"They're not really my family. OK, let me start at the beginning. When I was a baby, my parents died." He paused, wondering whether to say "in a car crash" like the Dursleys had always said or the truth: that they'd been murdered. He decided not to explain any further about it. "So I was left on the Dursleys' doorstep. Aunt Petunia - that's Mrs. Dursley to you - was my mother's sister. So I stayed with the Dursleys for 13 years. Uncle Vernon didn't give me a room 'til I was eleven. Instead, I stayed in the cupboard under the stairs. Dudley, my cousin, liked to chase me with his gang. He's the only person I've ever met who is wider than he is tall."  
  
Elsie was staring at Harry in awe. "And you're not just making all this up, are you?"  
  
"No, of course not. I had to wear Dudley's old clothes --"  
  
"But YOU'RE not as wide as you are tall."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"And so did you report all this to the child abuse center? And they sent you here?"  
  
"No, of course not. I don't have any other family besides them, you know. And the Dursleys would get furious if I told anyone about what they did."  
  
"So how...?"  
  
"They got a divorce. Finally realized how awful the other was. Actually they blamed it all on me; that having me in the family causing tension and whatnot..."  
  
"How awful!"  
  
"They had an enormous fight over who'd get Dudley, but neither one wanted me --"  
  
"That's so sad!"  
  
"So here I am..."  
  
"...in a foster home," she finished.  
  
"All right, what about you? What's your life story?"  
  
"Me? Oh, all right. Um, let's see, I was adopted by Mama when I was five. I used to be foster homes, too. 'Cause my birth mum didn't want me." She turned sad brown eyes to Harry. "Isn't it sad? But, anyway, this was my second foster home. Mama and I didn't want to be separated so she adopted me!" Elsie had a nice smile; friendly despite her teeth were a bit big.  
  
"Don't you know ANYTHING about your real parents?"  
  
"Not 'real parents.' BIRTH parents. Mama is my REAL mama even if I wasn't born to her. And yes, I do know ONE thing."  
  
"What is it?" Harry was curious.  
  
"I know her name. My birth mother's name. Except it's not worth much. There are twenty-nine people in London with the same name."  
  
"What's the name?" Harry thought for a second she'd say "Potter" and it'd turn that she was his long-lost sister. But not so.  
  
"Her name was Granger." And it suddenly clicked to Harry why Elsie had looked so familiar. 


	4. Lunch at the Yardleys'

Just as Harry opened his mouth, Mrs. Yardley called from another room in the house. "Come on, kids! Lunchtime!"  
  
Harry got up shakily from the wooden window seat in utter disbelief. How could it simply be possibly? Or was it just a coincidence? And the important part: should he tell his new foster sister that she was akin to one of his best friends?  
  
Before he could make any decisions, Elsie, impatient with his slowness, grabbed his arm. "Come on! We have to wash hands before lunch. Mama's real strict about that."  
  
After leaving the cramped bathroom that oddly had a theme of cats: a cat- shaped rug and toilet plunger, tacky towels printed with photos of kittens in flowerpots, and soap with the silhouette of a cat, arching its back, Elsie led Harry to the kitchen. The strange bathroom made Harry forget about the Hermione/Elsie connection for that time. Weren't cats afraid of water? His ponderings were interrupted by Mrs. Yardley's chatter.  
  
"Do sit down, Harry! You don't expect to eat standing up, do you?"  
  
"He might have done that in his old home, Mama," Elsie began. "Harry's told me about how badly they treated him. Imagine, he had to sleep in a cupboard! Under the stairs!" In a matter of a few minutes, Elsie had repeated Harry's life story to her mother.  
  
"You poor boy, after all you've gone through, it's good you're here with us. It may not be exactly neat, but it's clean. And we'll treat you kindly."  
  
"Do you know what will happen to me? How long will I stay here?"  
  
"The man who brought you here - what was his name?"  
  
"Mr. Wryer."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Wryer, he should come back in a couple of weeks to check on you - how you're settling in and all... If all goes well, we might choose to adopt you."  
  
"That would be nice. For what I know of you, you are very kind...both of you." Harry didn't really want to be adopted by them though. Let me out! His brain screamed. He was supposed to meet Cho...go to Hogwarts. How could he do any of that if he were adopted into a Muggle family? I need to escape, he thought. But when could he do it? And how? Would he climb out of a window when everyone else was asleep or what?  
  
As much as he didn't want to admit it, Harry was starting to like life at the Yardley's house. Taking a sip of the hot soup Mrs. Yardley had made, he realized she was a lot better cook than Aunt Petunia. And of course, there was no crazy diet he had to follow here. The people weren't bad either. Mrs. Yardley seemed a warm, caring woman - closer to a mother then Aunt Petunia had ever been. Things couldn't get too boring with Elsie about, especially with that mystery about her parents...  
  
Don't do this to yourself, Harry's mind chastised. Remember Cho. Think of Cho. Would you give up her for some Muggles who you barely know? And what about Hogwarts? How will you go? But the other side of Harry's mind battled with him. I have to find out if Elsie really is Hermione's sister! And if she is...what if she turns out to be a witch? This was too much. Harry's brain felt overwhelmed.  
  
"May I please be excused?"  
  
"You've only had two spoonfuls of soup!" Mrs. Yardley protested. "And after that there's roast chicken, and then ice-cream! Aren't you hungry?"  
  
"I'm sorry to be rude, Mrs. Yardley. But I really do feel exhausted. I think I feel a headache coming on, too."  
  
"Oh, all right. You may be excused. You can get your things unpacked and settled in. I'll save your lunch for later."  
  
Feeling a bit guilty for the work she must have put into cooking it for him, he cringed. "I really do apologize."  
  
"I understand. Now go and take a nap. You'll feel better, but be careful not to sleep through dinner."  
  
Harry escaped to his new room, collapsing on the bed as he threw his glasses off. He was closing his eyes and almost felt sleep drifting him away, but then he noticed something that woke him up, made him sit right up with surprise. Through his window, he could see a familiar grinning face, waving to him. He was wearing Muggle clothes, but Harry still could recognize his Hogwarts classmate, Dean Thomas. 


	5. Away

Harry leapt up and dashed to the window. He pushed it open and called, "Dean?"  
  
Dean Thomas opened the gate separating the two yards. He ran into the Yardley garden and looked up at the window Harry was leaning out of.  
  
"Harry? What are you doing here?"  
  
Harry didn't feel like explaining the story all over again. Instead, he asked, "What about you?"  
  
"I live here! What do you think? Remember, my parents are Muggles. But I know for sure that you aren't our neighbor. How'd you get in the Yardley's house?"  
  
Harry sighed. All he wanted was a nap. "I'm now a foster child." He avoided looking at Dean's surprised and curious face. Interrupting the question "But what about those Mug -- " he said quickly, "I'm very tired. I need a nap. Talk later," and slammed the window shut. Dean knocked on the window, but Harry threw himself on his bed. He punched his pillow. Why had those cursed fools of Dursleys gone and put him in a foster home? Life with them was awful, everyone understood. Now he'd have to go and explain why he was living with Muggles. The Dursleys were Muggles, but that was understandable. They were relatives. Dumbledore had placed him in their care. What would Malfoy say to this?  
  
In a foul mood, Harry watched Dean into his back garden, looking confused, angry, and (what made Harry most annoyed) hurt. Wishing he could live with Sirius, or even better, that his parents had never died at all, Harry rolled over and fell asleep.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione was above him, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up," she said. "I brought you some dinner."  
  
"I want to sleep. Go away, Hermione," Harry mumbled into his pillow.  
  
"What did you call me? I'm Elsie, remember? And eat some dinner. I didn't bother bringing it for nothing."  
  
Harry opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness of the room. He stared at Elsie for a moment before remembering everything. The truth crashed on him like an ocean wave and felt as though he were drowning in it. All I want is to go back to Hogwarts. How can I in a foster home? His despair showed on his face, for Elsie said,  
  
"Are you all right? I'm sorry you're so disappointed to see me. I'll just leave the plate here then. Good-bye." With a hurt sniff, she marched across the door and exited, closing the door with a sharp click.  
  
Once she had gone, Harry didn't waste any time. He jammed his glasses onto his nose, and grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage. He placed everything by the window and leaned over to open it up. Squinting into the dark outside, Harry threw the trunk down. Then he put his arms around Hedwig's cage, as she squawked madly, and jumped.  
  
* * *  
  
After running through the dark streets for a couple blocks as he dragged a trunk behind him and a cage in his arms, Harry stopped. He leaned over, panting. Once he had caught his breath he began to think sensibly.  
  
"What am I going to do?" he whispered aloud, the quiet words disappearing into the chilly air that surrounded him like black fog. "Where am I going to go?"  
  
Now he began to walk slowly, heaving his trunk alongside him. He let Hedwig out to soar above him and he tied her now light cage to his trunk.  
  
Harry pondered all the possibilities.  
  
"I could go back to one of the Dursleys. It would preferably be Aunt Petunia, because she is the one who is actually related to me," he muttered under his breath as he crossed the road, stepping into the orange splash of light from the streetlamp above. "And I don't think she knows how to attach bars to a window," he added bitterly.  
  
The thought of returning to live with the people he had loathed all his life did not settle well in his mind.  
  
Harry suddenly stopped walking.  
  
"Return to the Dursleys? Am I mad? Anywhere is better than living with them! I didn't run away to go back to them."  
  
A lone car on the road whizzed past Harry. The breeze it caused ruffled his hair and the cold air chilled him. It reminded him of the urgency he needed to some somewhere to stay - any shelter.  
  
"I could go to the Weasleys," he thought. This would be the best of all options because Ron would be there and Mrs. Weasley would give him food and care. However, it appeared to be most difficult. He sighed with frustration. "How would I get there?" he moaned aloud to the empty buildings he passed.  
  
An idea came to him. The Knight Bus, which he had taken the last time he ran away. That time he had summoned it accidentally. Unfortunately, since it was an accident, he didn't know how to summon it again.  
  
"Stick your wand out," he muttered. It had gone something along those lines, hadn't it? Except he had fallen as he did it, which he hoped wasn't necessary. He stopped walking and reached into his trunk. He pulled out his wand. Gripping it tightly, he stuck it in front of him as he peered around for a bus dangerously driven to pop up out of nowhere.  
  
Nothing happened. Harry groaned, annoyed. He tried again, and this time closed him eyes tightly and wished as hard as he could it would work.  
  
He opened his eyes to squealing brakes. Harry couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that it had worked. He had summoned the Knight Bus. He grinned.  
  
The purple bus stood in front of him, vibrating slightly as it stood on the road, waiting for him to board. A familiar face beamed at him.  
  
"Stan!" Harry greeted the teenage conductor.  
  
"It's 'Arry Potter, Ernie! Remember him, Ernie? 'Arry! Where'd you like to go, 'Arry?"  
  
Harry sighed with relief as Stan picked up his trunk and he motioned him to climb aboard. Once on the bus, he opened his trunk and rummaged for his money.  
  
"The Burrow," he said. He sighed happily with the thought of going far, far away from all those Muggle problems. 


End file.
